The Lion and The Bull
by 8ron
Summary: Set a few weeks after Cullen and The Inquisitor have become an item. Evelyn convinces Cullen to let her borrow his armor, but her intentions are not made clear, and he isn't entirely happy with the result.


"Cullen, are you awake?" He didn't answer, but Gwen was sure she saw his eyebrows twitch into a tiny frown before smoothing out once more. She stared at him, hard. He was faking it. Though it was a remarkably good performance. Thanks to their activities before they'd gone to sleep, she was lying on top of him, and his chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm beneath her. His breath whooshed in an almost – but not quite – snore; arms remained relaxed as she placed a hand on one bicep.

He was good. But not good enough.

"Cullen." She said again, resisting the urge to whine. "I know you're awake."

He did not even twitch. Oh well played, sir. Well played. Gwen wrinkled her nose and reached out to poke his cheek. Usually she might have demonstrated a bit of self-control and left him be, but the sun had stroked into her quarters an hour ago, and crept between the gaps of the bed curtains in warm streaks of gold. Already she could hear shouts out in the courtyard and the familiar clanging of hammers and swords alike.

"Commander?"

"You only call me that in public." He finally grumbled, mouth curling into an amused little smirk on one side. Cullen shifted, rolling them both over onto their sides and entangling their legs together, though his eyes remained stubbornly shut. "Go back to sleep, Inquisitor." He said, keeping up the formalities and his teasing tone. Cullen breathed in the lemony smell of her hair, nuzzling into it with a tired groan. "Unless you'd rather…" His hand finished the sentence, stroking across her waist and to her backside, pressing her naked body against his own.

She felt herself getting distracted, giggling as he stopped squeezing and started tickling; all the while raining light kissed down her neck.

"No, I – ah! Cullen." He captured her mouth in his, tongue tangy from the morning and strangely enticing. Gwen did not manage another coherent word for another hour.

* * *

As had become habit, when the pair finally did get out of bed, Gwen helped Cullen put on his armour. Not only due to it being quicker this way, but also because it was oddly soothing for them both, and she buckled the plates of steel against his chest in a contented silence.

It was only when she was pulling his cloak over his broad shoulders that she remembered what she'd wanted to ask earlier.

"May I borrow your helmet this afternoon?"

"Yes. Wait, no – what?" He had agreed on instinct, but now he frowned down at her suspiciously. "Pray tell, what you would need my helmet for?"

A sarcastic comment came far too naturally to her – because really, it was a helmet, her intentions weren't difficult to guess - but Gwen swallowed it tactfully and silently debated how to convince her lion that he really should just let her take his things without question.

"I agreed to do some sparring practise with Bull later today, and he was insufferably smug about the whole thing." She tightened the buckles of his breast plate, staring at her hands whilst Cullen watched her fondly. "He thinks I'll be easy to beat when I can't use magic. So I just want to look… fierce."

"Fierce?" He said, not sounding convinced in the slightest.

"_And_ protect my head. He doesn't know his own strength after all, and it's not like I can put a barrier up." She'd finally found the right words, and Cullen slowly nodded as he imagined the qunari swinging a great sword at his inquisitor's lovely head.

"Okay. As long as you're safe." He sunk his hand into her soft curls and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Thank you. And I'll need the cloak too… just to be safe."

He groaned, but began to shrug out of it anyway.

* * *

Cullen strode across the courtyard and stifled a yawn. His entire morning had been devoted to paperwork, yet the piles in his office seemed no smaller. Now the beginnings of a headache prowled behind his eyes, and threatened to roar into a full blown migraine if he was not careful.

Yet he ignored the warning. He still had a million tasks that demanded his attention; and so he strode towards the armoury with an angry glare that he wore too often.

He wasn't the only one in a rush, and noted how everyone seemed to be hurrying down towards the stables, including more than a few of his soldiers, the Bull's Chargers, and even – he was surprised to see – Josephine.

"What has you away from your desk?" He teased as she met him halfway, scowl forming into a friendly smile.

"To see the show of course." She purred, regarding him oddly. "I'm surprised you're not there already trying to put a stop to it."

"A stop to what?" He said, but Josephine merely beckoned him to follow, and curiosity found him obeying her like a good puppy, joining the large crowd wandering down the steps.

"The Dwarf's taking bets you know. My moneys on Iron Bull." A young recruit was saying in front, not having noticed his Commander. "No way can the Herald stop that guy once he's charging. Have you seen the size of him?!"

"I dunno. The Herald isn't just on some knackered stag. It's a Tirashan Swifthand. They're smart. Smarter than you, Jim."

The group laughed, but their conversation had left Cullen in a cold sweat, and he picked up the pace as they made it to the stables. Quite a crowd had gathered for what was supposed to be a simple sparring match, and he had the funny feeling that his Inquisitor had played him for a fool.

Once Cullen had reached the front of the crowd he knew that as fact.

Protection indeed.

By one end of the crowd, there was Iron Bull, flexing his muscles for the Tavern wenches squealing nearby and cracking his neck in preparation. Bare chested, no weapon in sight.

On the other end, there was Gwen, and she had never looked more like the Herald of Andraste as she did in that moment. Despite being mad with her, Cullen felt his breath catch in his throat. She had mounted her white elk, who danced in circles and swung its huge antlered head in a graceful impatience. His armour suited her. His red cloak was sprayed down her back and over the animal's rump, the fur pauldrons nestling across her shoulders and blending into the lion shaped helmet. The visor was up, and dark locks of hair waved in the wind whilst her teeth flashed the crowd with a brilliant – and smug – smile.

She looked ravishing. Beautiful. Fierce.

He was going to kill her.

"Hey Curly, I thought everyone agreed to not tell you about this?" Varric had joined them, and Josephine giggled at his casual bluntness

"Don't worry, no one did." He said through gritted teeth. "Care to tell me what's going on?" It was an order, not a request, and they both knew it. But if Varric's wicked grin was anything to go by, he was happy to divulge.

"Well, last night while _you _were working, we were all playing a hand or two of wicked grace in the tavern. Tiny started teasing the Inquisitor about her beloved Harts. Something or other about her weakness for anything with horns, and that must be why she picked him to go to the Hinterlands with her last week," he waved a hand dismissively. Cullen's headache was now throbbing. "She corrected him and went on this whole 'they're antlers' speech. Then they began to wonder which would be stronger. Antlers or horns."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes."

He suddenly realised this was why they were on opposite ends of the grounds. They were getting ready to charge.

"She's going to get herself killed!"

"You think? I put my money on the Herald. What about you, Ruffles?"

"I had to stay loyal to my Inquisitor of course. Three silvers."

"Very daring."

"I thought so."

They were driving him insane, discussing the bets they'd taken on his inquisitor's life.

"I've got to stop it," he stepped forward, but it was too late. The parties had already taken their mark and the crowd was giving an encouraging cheer. He couldn't exactly pull The Herald of Andraste off her mount and scold her right then and there in front of all her followers.

He could only watch, and pray.

Iron Bull blew a kiss to his fans, bounced on the tip of his toes, then hunched down and charged forward with a mighty roar and an evil gleam in his eyes.

Gwen set off with a bit more drama, clearly enjoying herself. She flicked the visor of her - _his_\- helmet over her face and spun the dancing hart in the right direction. Her regal mount reared up with cry – completely intentional on her part, he was sure - kicking its front legs in the air before jumping forward with a buck and galloping towards the qunari. For the first few seconds they both concentrated on picking up speed. Gwen leaned forward in her saddle, furred cloak flapping behind her. The ground seemed to shake from Iron Bull's heavy stomps, remarkably quick for someone so huge.

The hart and Iron Bull dipped their heads, ready to meet. Cullen didn't want to watch, yet couldn't turn away as the others cheered and clapped their hands in the air, and someone somewhere beat a drum to add to the atmosphere. _A drum. _

Three, two –

Antlers and horns locked together as they butted heads with a crash. Gwen nearly flew forward when contact was made, but regained her balance to Cullen's great relief. Iron Bull was still roaring, large hands grasping the Hart's sides.

He was going to kill them both.

There was an 'oooh' from the crowd as they wrestled. Josephine gasped and fanned herself with one hand, looking ready to swoon. Varric chuckled. "This shit writes itself."

Iron Bull was still roaring, and began to make ground, pushing the large animal back slowly. The lioness on top flicked her reins and spun the creature away. Heads separated for a few seconds before they were butting again, and again, and again. It was clear that the inquisitor spent days in the saddle. During a small scuffle, Bull managed to fling the hart back, and it bucked at him with a snort in protest. Gwen galloped down the track and spun around for round two. This time Bull remained rooted to the spot as she charged towards him, arms stretched as if to hug the beast.

_CRASH._

Bull had locked his horns through the Hart's antlers, and there was now no getting away as he tried to twist the beast and unseat Gwen. She clearly had been telling the truth about the no magic rule, and Cullen found himself wishing that she'd cheat at this game like she did with chess.

Iron Bull grabbed her foot and pulled, Gwen retorted with a kick to his cheek whilst trying to guide the huge stag free.

"Oh come on! He's clearly cheating." Cullen said without thinking, cheeks turning hot as his friends gave each other a sly look.

"Want to place a bet, Commander? It's not too late." Varric said.

Maker help him.

"Five gold pieces on Gwen. Er! I mean – Lavellan. The Inquisitor."

Josephine sucked through her teeth. Incredibly careful with money considering she always won at Wicked Grace.

"Five gold it is, Curly. But I think you'll regret it."

He huffed and watched on. The pair were still caught together, but Gwen had wrestled free of Bull's grip. Now she pulled on her reins and dug her heels in. It was a bold move, and she used Iron Bull's tactics to her advantage. With a high pitched cry, the hart reared up, taking Bull with it and tossing him over with a heavy swing of its head.

The qunari went flying over them with a cry, arms flailing before he landed in the dirt face first. There was a moments silence as everyone wondered if he was okay. But after a groan, the man clambered back up to his feet and burst into a merry laughter that urge the crowd to cheer and clap – including Cullen.

"Now _that _was a fight!" The qunari roared, wandering up to the proud animal and rubbing its head fondly.

Gwen had already dismounted and pulled up her visor. First she checked that Iron Bull was truly fine, then, once she was sure, she wandered up to Cullen with a sheepish smile.

So she had noticed him watching.

"For protection, huh?" He said, crossing his arms over his chest and giving her his sternest look.

"Are you mad?"

"Furious. But you just won me five gold pieces, so as long as Varric pays up I suppose I'll live." She grinned at his word, and looked so beautiful in his helmet that he had to lean down and give her a quick kiss on the nose – a public act of affection they rarely showed. "Just, promise me you'll never do that again?" He said in a hushed whisper, looking pained now that he was sure she was the only one who could hear. "Never again, Gwen. Promise me."

"I promise." Gwen said, though, he wasn't sure if he believed her.


End file.
